


Infidelity

by Mysenia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cheating, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Multi, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/pseuds/Mysenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That feeling you get when you think you've missed a step only to land on solid ground? Yeah, that's how Stiles was feeling when he saw Peter in bed with another man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this is thanks to the tags [ cywscross ](http://cywscross.tumblr.com/) put on the drabble when I posted it to tumblr. I saw the tag and thought, "Yeah, that sounds like a good story title.".

When Stiles walked into the house, he knew something was different. Not a thing was out of place and, Stiles realized in hindsight, that was probably what tipped him off. The shoes were squared away, the coats on the rack, and the keys actually hanging up. Everything was neat, pristine even, and that tidy-ness unsettled him.

It was an unusual time for him to be home, just after lunch. His day had started off late, Stiles sleeping through first Peter waking him up and then his alarm. Peter had seemed urgent in his need to get Stiles up. At the time Stiles figured it was because Peter knew that he was especially out of it after last night, now he’s not so sure that was it.

Slipping out of his shoes, Stiles leaves them strewn about - needing that bit of disorder in this newly organized space. Taking quiet steps forward he slides unexpectedly, glancing down to find that the wood has that polished gleam to it. Stiles doesn’t remember Peter telling him he was going to wax the floors today, something they both agreed needed forewarning after the time Stiles nearly broke an arm slipping on the treated floor.

Stiles strains his ears, listening for the telltale sound of Peter working away in his office, but all is silent. He lets his feet take him to the back door, eyes flitting about the yard in a desperate search for the wolf. He briefly contemplates the thought that Peter went for his daily run in the afternoon, but Stiles knows that Peter is a stickler to his own schedule - that and the fact that Peter has made it abundantly clear that he would never run during the hottest hours of the day, his body running too hot already for the added heat of the sun.

He rests his head on the glass, drums his fingers along his thighs. Stiles feels unmoored, that urgency transferred over from Peter that morning, causing a slight jarring to his day. His boss had sent him home, told him his head wasn’t in it and that he should take the rest of the day off to come back to himself. Coming home seems to have only made Stiles’ head worse, his thoughts trying so hard to scatter away from the glaring answer in front of him. 

He feels like at any moment gravity will just seize to continue, that he’ll fly away just like his thoughts. Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to centre himself. 

Turning towards the stairs, his steps feel heavy and stilted. His entire body rebelling against the reality of what he expects to find. Last night, last night had been a life changer. 

His wolf telling him he wasn’t part of a two bond but a triad. His wolf telling him he wasn’t enough to anchor him. His wolf telling him that there was someone else.

Last night Stiles had found out what a gun shot in the form of words felt like. Had found out what it felt like to have his innards torn to shreds while tucked away safe in the cavity of his skin. Had found out what it was like to drown on air.

As his foot hits the first step, Stiles glances up the staircase, and only sees darkness. His future awaits him and he’d rather not see it, not see the reality in the form of a living, breathing man that he wasn’t enough for his wolf. Not be faced with his failure to be enough for Peter, knowing no matter how hard he’s tried he has always failed, and that only with this _new_ man will his wolf finally be complete.

Dragging himself up the stairs, one agonizing step at a time, Stiles finally remembers why everything is different today. Finally acknowledges what he’s been denying since he fell asleep last night. Finally admits why today has been _off_. 

Today is the day Peter brought home _Chris_. The man Peter has been meeting and formed a relationship with behind Stiles’ back. The man who _supposedly_ completes their bond. Their missing third. The man who, without having met Stiles once, has completely altered Stiles’ life forever.

Stiles wonders, only briefly, if Peter told Chris about him. In the grand scheme of things he decides it doesn’t matter. If he finds what he thinks, knows, he’s going to find well, everything is going to change. The what if’s don’t really matter.

As he drags his feet towards their bedroom, Stiles tries to find this new man’s presence in his house. Spots it in the new bookshelf in the upstairs office, the guitar hanging on the wall, the scent of cologne that belongs to neither himself or Peter. Stiles wonders how long it takes, how much he can handle, before he throws up.

Peter had told him last night about Chris, their relationship, and how Chris had finally agreed to move in - like Stiles was supposed to be as ecstatic about this development as Peter. Stiles hated Peter in that moment. Hated him for forgetting that Stiles wasn’t a wolf, that Stiles didn’t feel incomplete. Hated Peter for not telling him that they were part of a triad, for Peter had known for some time he’d told Stiles last night. 

Stiles hated Peter for expecting Stiles to be at all okay with the news. To be at all okay with the lying and the cheating. The expectation that Stiles wouldn’t freak out.

Stiles hated himself for feeling like a failure. For feeling like he’d let his wolf down. Hated himself for not being a wolf and just _knowing_.

Standing outside his closed bedroom door, Stiles took a moment to picture what he knew he was about to see. Letting the memory of what he and Peter had done after they’d moved in flow through his mind. The stark image of himself and Peter tangled up naked in bed, celebrating the momentous occasion. Stiles watched, in his minds eye, as that memory shattered and became tainted as it became overlayed by a new image - of Peter and Chris wrapped up in each other in bed.

His head was pounding right between his eyes, the tears that he’d unknowingly been holding back finally forcing their way past his eyelashes. The first tear tracked its way down his cheek, dripping off his chin, and as it broke on the ground Stiles felt his trance break. 

Grabbing the handle he eased open the door, the tears acting as a physical clearing of his mind. He blinked once to clear away the water, he wanted to be able to see the betrayal.

Lying on the bed, just as he knew they would be, were Peter and the mystery man Chris. Bare as the day they were born except for the sheet draped across their legs. Sound asleep. 

Stiles stood there, not frozen or shocked, more an audience observing living art. For there they were, two specimens of beauty - for Stiles could not deny Chris was just as beautiful as Peter - oblivious to their audience. Oblivious to their admirer. Unaware of the deep seeded hatred their seemingly innocent slumber was invoking. 

Stiles felt himself shaking, the world swaying around him. It was only as the picture hanging on the wall to his right fell, the glass shattering and waking the sleeping occupants of the room, that Stiles realized it was not only him shaking. The entire house was moving around them, undulating under the wake of Stiles’ crumbling core. The wards he’d set up to protect them reacting to the inner turmoil of their creator. 

Stiles knew, in that moment, that he could end them - would be satisfied in the knowledge that they perished with terror in their hearts. Stiles knew he’d regret it, eventually, but that seemed so far off. He pictured it, their deaths flashing before his eye in a hundred different ways. 

As quickly as the shaking started, it stopped, the house damaged to match how Stiles felt. He knew he could end them, but he also knew he could not live in a world where Peter wasn’t breathing. 

Peter was out of the bed and walking towards Stiles before he brought himself back to reality. Stiles held up a hand and Peter stopped instantly. 

Stiles couldn’t understand how Peter hadn’t seen this fallout happening but it was written clear as day on his face, his surprise and shock and even hurt. It was that last emotion, Peter probably not even realizing he was projecting it, that forced Stiles into motion. 

He turned on his heel and made for the stairs, flinging himself down and twisting his ankle on the last step. The pain shot clarity through his mind, giving him something else to focus on. He had his feet in his shoes and his keys in his hand before he heard movement at the top of the stairs. 

Peter was standing there, reaching out as if he could possibly hope to stop Stiles. Stiles gave him a sad smile and ran out the door. 

He was in his car with the car started and the doors locked but a moment before he heard Peter yank on the passenger door. He could hear Peter shouting at him, knew the wolf would have the door open if Stiles gave him another second, so he floored the gas pedal and sped off down the street. 

He briefly glimpsed the wolf running after him before he focused his eyes on the road. His ankle was shooting pain up his leg, and his eyes were filling with tears. Stiles felt his heart thud in his chest.

He looked down, needing to see his chest still rising through the pain, his heart still beating the rhythm that kept him alive. His shaky exhale of relief at knowing his heart could still work through unthinkable agony was the last thing he heard before his car hit the tree.


	2. Chapter 2

When Stiles came to it was with gasping breaths. The air in his lungs evaporated, the oxygen burned out. He tried to claw at his throat but his arms were stuck, weighed down by pain. Everything was pain. Blackness descended and all he could think was fear.

He was lightheaded, the fire raging, spreading outwards from his chest to engulf his body. He couldn't escape. He screamed and screamed, blood curdling from the heat. He couldn't escape. Tears dripped down his face, ashes splintering away from his body, skin deteriorating. He couldn't escape.

A searing cool liquid stung up his arm, icicles forming and chipping away at his organs as it spread throughout his body. He moaned, desperate to lose the ability to feel. This was dying, this was torture, dragging out the pain way beyond his endurance and further still. 

Every beat of his heart like a gong through his head, ringing the terrible news that he persevered still. He couldn't hold his breath for the pain pushed grunts out of his mouth. Delirium sat just beneath the surface and he longed to be wrapped in its embrace. Oblivion wasn't coming.

He waded in a pool of pain, constantly looping around and caressing him with whisker fine knives. He was a garden blooming in season. The sun touched his forehead and he yearned to bask in it but it was too much, he flinched away. 

Only as noise distantly penetrated his mind did he realize he had been deaf, the outside muted under the weight of his agony. He cried relief, he cried fear, he did not want to wake, he wanted to break free. 

A heavy thrumming swish reverberated in his skull. It took long moments to understand it was his blood rushing, the sound filling his brain. It was a hundred thousand bee's wings beating a rhythm he desperately wanted to escape.   
A steady pressure made itself known, radiating warmth from Stiles’ right side. A pulsing squeeze of reassurance that told him he wasn’t alone. It helped Stiles wade past the pain, anchoring himself to the touch that he could distantly feel on his right hand. The touch accompanied a steady voice murmuring in his ear and Stiles strained to make out the words. 

The darkness under his eyelids was slowly lightening the more Stiles pushed to the front of his conscience. He recognized the voice whispering in his ear, the cadence soothing Stiles through the pain. He silently pleaded with the voice to keep talking as Stiles groaned his way to waking.

The voice pulled him along, the balm to the ache surrounding Stiles, and he followed it blindly - it would lead him to safety. He blinked open sore eyelids, blinking until the room came into focus.

He was in a hospital room, the white walls and humming lights, the sickened bleach smell coating everything bringing back memories he’d rather forget. He was hooked up to an IV - which apparently didn’t contain any pain meds if the pain he felt was anything to go by - and various other machines that monitored his health.

He rolled his head to the side for the first time taking in his dad sitting beside him. He realised that his dad was still talking, a relieved smile gracing his face, but all Stiles could hear of it was the murmuring that had brought him out of the blackness.

He focused on his dad’s mouth trying read the words his mouth was forming, catching his name and _I love you_ and _you’re going to be okay_. The noise slowly increased in volume until Stiles could clearly hear his dad and it was such a relief that Stiles felt momentarily free from pain. 

“Dad.” Stiles croaked out and he could see tears in his dad’s eyes.

“Oh Son.” The Sheriff said as he got up and sat gingerly on the bed. He didn’t try to hug Stiles, too many wires and unknowing of the amount of pain Stiles was in, but he did drape himself over Stiles bracketing him in warmth and love. Stiles could feel his own eyes tearing up even more, mingling with the tears brought on by pain.

His dad kissed his forehead before sitting back and gently pulling Stiles’ right hand to hold between his own. His eyes flickered all over but kept coming back to Stiles’ eyes as if to make sure Stiles was actually awake.

Stiles smiled at him but it was a tired and pained smile. He had struggled to wake up and he’s not exactly sure why when exhaustion is trying to pull him back under. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry and his throat hurt.

He was going to ask his dad for water when a cup with a straw was placed in front of him and Stiles barely managed to smile gratefully for it. His dad had to hold the cup and place the straw in his mouth because Stiles still did not have control of his body, the pain making it too hard to move.

He wondered where Peter was, what was keeping him from being at Stiles’ bedside while his mate had clearly been in some sort of accident. As his dad took the cup away Stiles was able to look around the room for any evidence of his mate and found it in Peter’s bunched up jacket sitting on the windowsill. Normally Peter wasn’t so careless with his clothes but Stiles figured stress was a big factor in the wolf leaving it scrunched up. 

“He’s,” His dad started to say, bringing Stiles’ attention back to him. He saw that his dad was looking at Peter’s jacket as well. “gone to get some coffee from somewhere other then the cafeteria.” He finished.

Stiles looked at his dad quizzically. There was a hesitance to his voice that confused Stiles. 

The Sheriff picked up Stiles’ hand again from where he’d placed it back on the bed. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Uh, I went to work.” Stiles tried to bring up the last thing he remembered but concentrating on it hurt his head. “Oh shit, did I fall asleep at the wheel on my way home?” Stiles felt disappointed in himself. He was usually such a stickler for road safety and driving tired was something he tried to avoid.

His dad didn’t say anything and that confirmed it for Stiles. The tears that had not gone away, merely clogging his eyes, finally dripped over as the weight of what had happened fell on him.

“I didn’t” hiccup “didn’t hurt anyone did I-I?” Stiles gasped. He didn’t feel like he could handle any more, his sobs wracking his battered frame which only made the tears fall faster.

“Stiles no, you didn’t hurt anyone beyond yourself. And you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel either.” The Sheriff cupped his face so he could look into Stiles’ eyes. 

It was too late to stop the tears so he just continued to cry. He felt his head stuffing up and his eyes swelling slightly so Stiles closed his eyes, willing his upset away. His dad stroked his hair and squeezed Stiles’ hand to let him know he was not alone but he didn’t try asking Stiles anymore questions. 

“So what,” Stiles cleared his throat. “What happened then?”

“You hit a tree Love.” Peter’s voice spoke from the doorway and Stiles felt a smile break across his face as his eyes fell upon his husband.

Just having Peter at the door was such a relief to Stiles, he knew Peter would take care of everything. As his husband walked further into the room Stiles let his eyes rove over the wolf, drinking in the sight of him greedily. Stiles felt a pang at the thought that he might have never seen Peter again, of having left his wolf all alone bereaved of his mate. 

“And where were you?” Stiles reached out for Peter as the wolf sat on his left side.

Peter raised the to-go coffee cups in his hand as he handed one of to the Sheriff. “Getting your Father and I something other than cafeteria coffee. At least we know this stuff won’t burn a hole in our stomachs.” Peter smiled down at Stiles as he ran his free hand through Stiles’ hair. 

Stiles leaned into the touch and sunk further into the bed as Peter started draining the topmost layer of his pain away. Stiles felt his lungs expanding easier, exhaustion making his eyelids droop as he finally felt comfortable enough to sleep. 

“They need to up his pain meds. The sting of this is telling.” Stiles heard Peter whisper to the Sheriff as he started drifting off.

The Sheriff let out a rough bark of laughter, quieted only slightly, and Stiles wondered why his dad seemed to have an underlying tinge of anger in his voice.

“They need to up his pain meds.” He heard his dad mock. Stiles was confused but his body was already sleeping as his mind slowly descended to follow it, the thought of why the conversation was wrong flitted out of his mind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asked sharply.

“Don’t play dumb with me wolf. We both know that the only reason he’s even in here is because of you. Wipe that stupid surprised look off your face.” The Sheriff hissed. Stiles wanted to shake his head, demand they stop arguing. It wasn’t a good dream he was having. “Don’t doubt that he’ll remember everything. This amnesia is temporary, happens with head wounds, but Stiles’ magic won’t allow him to forget. Hell, even your _good for nothing_ bond won’t allow him to forget.”

“You cannot come between us.” Peter snarled back which only caused his dad to laugh again.

“Me? I’m not the one you have to worry about. I’ve allowed you in this room because I don’t control my son but if he asks me to do anything for him trust that your life will be hell wherever you go in town. For now, you can sit at his bedside and play the doting mate but how long do you really think it’ll be before he’s cursing you out?” He dad finished in a calm voice. 

Stiles felt like he was floating over his pain, it was just lapping at his back as Peter held it back. He didn’t like the dream, it swelled and thinned, fuzzy with his confusion. There was a niggling feeling at the edges of the dream but he pushed it away as he sunk further and finally fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was running away, dark shadows following his every step and matching his every pace. Many layered voices were screaming at him from the blank spaces around him and he was terrified.

He reached inwards to use his magic but the core of him where his spark normally burned bright was gone. He searched frantically for his connection to Peter and found the thread, thinned out and lax where normally it was thick and tight.

He reached for the thread and flinched when the thread broke away in two places, a faint connection pulling them in opposite directions. He tried to sense which direction would lead to Peter but could not get a read on his mate.

One of the new threads was brighter than the other so Stiles took a chance and followed that, slipping deeper into his mind as he left his physical body behind. The shadows could do whatever they wanted to his body, Stiles knew they would never be able to penetrate deep into his mind and magical core where his most precious possessions lay - his shields were built to withstand everything but death.

The thread was foreign in a way Stiles had not encountered in his mind before. He could only connect with a select few people, and firming those threads were only priority for two people in his life: his dad, and his husband.

There was enough familiarity to the thread though that Stiles felt safe enough to follow it. He knew that travelling across bonds was not safe to do unless he had an anchor in the other mind the thread attached too but Stiles was not afraid.

Minds and bonds grew and changed as time went on, reflecting the connection Stiles had with the person the thread was connected to. So even though the thread did not look the way he had come to associate with his bond with Peter, that did not mean that it wasn’t Peter’s bond thread.

His mind poked at the bond as he continued to float alongside the thread to the person it was connected to. The bond grew brighter the closer he got to the anchor but there was a darkness surrounding the thread that Stiles could not explain.

No matter how hard he tried to delve deeper into the thread to get a feel for the connection he had to it the more he felt like he was pressing up against a blackened window. It concerned Stiles that this block would suddenly show up between him and Peter, and he finally realized that what he was doing could have serious consequences.

It was too late to turn back though as he finally arrived at the end of the thread.

The core of the person he was currently looking at was definitely not Peter. Peter’s core was a vibrant electric blue whereas this core was a deep green. It was soothing to look at and Stiles’ own summer yellow seemed to mix nicely with it but the blackness surrounding it dirtied the bond, twisting into it and muddying the colours so they were not recognizable in places.

Stiles took a horrified step back. There was something seriously wrong with the connection if the blackness freely mixing with the two core colours was anything to go by.

Stiles had been so focused on wearily observing the bond that it took him a moment to see that there was a second thread breaking off from the bond. The colours in the thread leading away were too hard to distinguished - just like the thread Stiles had followed - but Stiles thought he saw hints of the vibrant blue he’d come to love.

He had no idea what was going on, why he had such a contaminated bond with the green core and why there would be a second thread that he could see. It made no sense; he had never encountered or read about anything such thing happening before.

Stiles felt a wave of exhaustion swamp him and it startled him. Normally he did not feel tired when he was so deep within his core, he only felt his energy level when he ‘woke up’ his deep meditation.

There was something seriously wrong with the situation but Stiles could not think beyond knowing it was wrong. He reached forward to touch the bond and as his hand connected with the barrier he felt himself flung back.

He was thrown back along the thread to his own core and he woke with a gasp.

He blinked in the sudden brightness as the dream faded from his mind. He was still in the hospital and this time it was easier to orient himself.

He was by himself but he was okay with that, it gave him some time to try to bring forth the memories that were currently hidden from him. He took a deep breath and prepared to meditate when a noise by the door drew his attention.

Peter was standing in the doorframe with his back to Stiles while he talked on the phone. The creaking of the door was what had alerted Stiles to his husband’s presence. Peter was whispering quite heatedly into the phone and it made Stiles wonder who he was talking to.

He contemplated trying to meditate, knowing it would help heal himself faster but he wanted to be able to talk to Peter when was done on the phone.

He watched his husband as the man continued on oblivious to his audience. Stiles could tell he was stressed, his back a tense line. There was an aura of anger and frustration but also an undercurrent of love to his aura and Stiles tried to feel out with his magic what was going on.

The moment he poked at Peter’s core the wolf in question turned around to see Stiles awake. Stiles had never been able to prod at his husband without the man knowing, something to do with being a werewolf, but Stiles did not mind.

He was itching to have his husband’s attention and if that meant cutting the man’s phone call short than he was more than alright with that.

He smiled at Peter as the man ended his phone call and made his way to Stiles’ bedside. The wolf reached out instantly to take Stiles’ hand and take away some of Stiles’ pain.

“Everything all right?” Stiles asked as he shimmied over in bed to give Peter some space to lay down beside him.

It was relaxing being wrapped up in his husband’s arms in this place that he hated so much. Any time previously that he had been in the hospital had been for reasons he would rather not think about but having Peter along helped immensely - especially when Stiles himself was the patient.

“It will be. Besides, it’s nothing that cannot wait. I would rather spend the time with you than talking on the phone.” Peter smiled at Stiles before leaning over to place a soft kiss on Stiles’ lips.

Stiles wished they were some place that he could deepen the kiss but already he could feel his body protesting against movement. Any slight tensing he felt all over so he reluctantly did not try for another kiss, instead relaxing fully into Peter’s side.

The silence was comfortable, something the two of them had not been able to enjoy in some time. There always seemed to be something going on and Stiles could be grateful for the break even though it came at the expense of an accident.

“So, I drove into a tree.”

Peter squeezed him gently before pulling back to look him in the eye. “You did.”

“But I did not fall asleep at the wheel?” Stiles asked. That part confused him quite a bit. “Did I swerve to avoid something?”

Peter tensed slightly and Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think you were distracted.” Peter finally replied after a few moments silence. “But I was not in the car with you so there’s no way to know for sure if you do not remember.”

“Oh.”

Stiles tried to think back to the accident but beyond leaving for work that morning, he could not remember a thing from that day. The longer he tried to think about it the more his head hurt.

At Peter’s questioning hmm, Stiles said, “Ugh, it’s hurting my head trying to think about it.”

Peter was still tense beside Stiles and there was a niggling sense that his husband was purposefully not telling him everything he knew about the accident.

Stiles pulled away from Peter and sat up, turning to look down at his husband. “Okay, what is wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Stiles let his magic probe at the man, his own form of a lie detector and waited for the wolf to respond. He knew Peter could feel the touch but Peter had never objected to it before, said it even the odds between them since Peter could always hear the blip of Stiles’ heart whenever he lied.

Peter made himself more comfortable on the bed and shrugged at Stiles. “It’s nothing.”

Stiles gaped at Peter as his magic sensed the lie. What the hell?

“Okay okay, no, it is not nothing but it is not something that is important right now.”

That rang true enough and Stiles decided to let the issue go for now. He really was too tired to bother figuring things out at the moment and the longer he was awake the more the pain became apparent, even with Peter draining his pain.

Stiles flexed his fingers to try to distract himself from the deeper aches. “Can you talk to the nurse about getting me some more pain meds? Whatever they’ve got me on does not seem to be working.”

Peter placed a kiss to Stiles’ brow and got off the bed. “I will go right now to see if there’s anything they can do.”

Stiles watched him go, eyes drooping to read his core. The vibrant blue Stiles had come to depend on was riddled with black and a deep green that Stiles had never seen before.

Something about the look of his husband’s core pulled at a memory but it was hazy and Stiles could not catch the thought. He let his eyes fall closed, reminding himself to think about it when he was not so tired.

**Author's Note:**

> I do plan on continuing this, but I can't give any concrete time as to when you could expect an update. Having said that, here are some links where cywscross and I let our brains roll over the idea a bit, as well as a response from thequietlurker. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ thequietlurker's response to the drabble ](http://mysenia.tumblr.com/post/121224174220/thequietlurker-replied-to-your-post-when-stiles)
> 
>  
> 
> [ cywscross' first response ](http://mysenia.tumblr.com/post/121233092020/cywscross-replied-to-your-post-when-stiles-walked)
> 
>  
> 
> [ cywscross' second response ](http://cywscross.tumblr.com/post/121234800255/mysenia-cywscross-replied-to-your-post-when)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ cywscross' last response ](http://cywscross.tumblr.com/post/121241332630)
> 
>  
> 
> Hopefully those help curb the feelings of "WTF WHY WOULD YOU JUST LEAVE IT THERE AT THE END?!" that this ending may have provoked in you.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think.  
> ~ M


End file.
